Room for One More
by Hrlyqin
Summary: I hadn't even thought about Sherlock in years. Until tonight.  One shot unless the public demands otherwise


**ROOM FOR ONE MORE**

**A Sherlock fanfiction by Hrlyqin.**

**(disclaimer: if I owned Sherlock we wouldn't still be waiting for Series 2)**

**...**

I hadn't thought about Sherlock Holmes in years.

3 years.

2 days.

8 minutes.

I had been standing in the line queue at the market, looking at the woman in front of me. I noticed her clothes seemed very tight, which I didn't mind at all, but then I noticed more. She was buying diet food (cottage cheese, brown rice, yoghurt) which meant she worried about her weight, so with that and her clothes being tight I figured she had put on some pounds recently and was trying to lose them now.

Casually, I glanced at her hands. No wedding ring but she had that tell-tale tanline that you see sometimes.

So a woman, recently divorced, puts on some misery weight. Understandable. But now she wants to improve her self image so she's dieting. Must be ready to get back on the scene.

I found myself shaking my head and wondering if I was starting to think like Sherlock.

That was the last time I had thought of him.

When I left Baker Street for good, I said that I would never waste my time again worrying about Sherlock bloody Holmes. He doesn't want to eat. Fine. He wants to overdose on nicotene patches (or worse), let him. He wants to hold his own life in no regard whatsoever, well he was an adult.

He wants to destroy himself, I'm not going to stand in his way.

It had been hard at first. Mycroft tried to convince me to return. Molly looked worried and unhappy when I ran into her on the street...and at first the days were so long and boring. A million times I got out my phone and tried to compose a text, until finally I deleted him off my contacts so I wouldn't have to see his name anymore (wedged between Sarah and Tommy) and be tempted.

But it got easier, and I thought about Sherlock and Sherlock's world less and less, until I didn't think about them at all.

Until tonight.

Cassie had a dance recital earlier, I had been on rotation down at the surgery so I had missed it, but Jen had gone and then taken the girls out for pizza afterwards. Since it was her turn with the carpool, she'd be awhile still. So I had the house to myself. Almost like a bachelor again.

I did what any bachelor in his forties did, I got a beer and turned on the telly. Considering myself a little daring, I even put my feet up on the coffee table.

I was trying to find some football or rugby or maybe some old Office episodes to watch when someone banged on the door.

"Who in the hell could that be?" I muttered.

_Tis some visitor, entreating entrance at my chamber door..._

I muted the tv and peeked out the side window. At first it looked like no one was out there, but then a black coat took shape out of the black night. A man, a tall man, with a mess of tangled black hair.

I leapt back from the window and my heart went into my throat when I heard a loud crash. My mind went to gunfire, an intruder, an explosion, until I realized that I had dropped my beer and let it shatter on the floor.

I grimmaced and picked up my slippered feet, now nicely soaked and perfumed. I turned towards the kitchen to get the broom when there was another loud knock.

So I went to the door.

I knew that in opening it, I might invite a very toxic influence back into my life. A dangerous man who I followed like a puppy, even if it meant following him right off a cliff. I wasn't so young anymore. I had a family to think of now. A family to protect.

A smart man would just leave him out there.

"John," came his voice, "I know you're there. I can see your shadow in the window. Open the door."

A smart man would just leave him out there, I repeated to myself.

Then I opened the door.

"Thank you, it's about time."

I found myself pushed aside as he rushed into my home and made his way into the kitchen. He was randomly pulling open drawers as I came in behind him.

"What are you doing?"

"I need coffee filters." he replied, starting to try the overhead cupboards.

I opened the one next to him and handed him the box.

"Hello." I said.

"Hell...o..." he stretched it out, obviously thinking while he was talking. He went over my head and grabbed the tea bags out of that same cupboard.

I guess I would need to be more direct. "Why are you **here**?" I asked.

"I'm on a case." he replied like that explained everything. "A man is creating fake antique currency and selling it to collectors. I need to be able to pass myself off as a small time forger to gain his confidence and get a look at his lab."

He carried the boxes over to the sink and started grabbing some spices from over the stove and adding them to his bundle.

"Sherlock...Sherlock! Stop! Stop moving!"

His hands froze in their action and he looked at me.

"You can't just walk in here after a decade and start raiding my kitchen!"

"Why not?"

"Because you just can't, that's why! Now look I'm glad to see you, but I don't want to get mixed up in any of your business. I have responsibilities now."

Sherlock must have thought it was safe to move because he turned and leaned elegantly against the counter, emptying his hands and then crossing his arms. "You have a family. That is what you were about to say, right? You have a family and you cannot put them at risk by associating yourself with my case and therefore opening yourself to any reprisals that may come."

I didn't say anything. He was right, and clearly not finished yet, so I just let him continue.

"Your family. Your wife, Jennifer. Born to Welsh parents, college educated, protestant, works as some kind of clerk in an office no more than twelves miles from your home. You've been married for eight years and your oldest daughter Cassandra is seven, so no mystery there. She had a ballet recital tonight which you missed, either out of dedication to your job or a lack of desire to hobnob with the other parents who you find pretentious. Your younger daughter Angela is four and sporty rather then feminine so you feel much closer to her, although you are wary of revealing this as you want your children to have a better relationship than you and Harry."

He paused and me, aware my face was turning red, interjected with "Don't stop now. Keep going. Please, tell me more about myself." The words were laced with venom I hope he detected as well as he did everything else.

"Alright." he acquiesced. "You work at a local surgery but you are thinking of hanging it up because the patients are all starting to blend together and that frightens you. You have a loving wife and two healthy children. You use your gift to save lives. People in the community respect you. It is an ideal life, full of something you craved in your own family. Stability. You want to atone for your parent's sins and Harry's shortcomings by providing your girls with the most picturesque childhood you can muster. It's a noble goal, and you feel you are leading a worthwhile life. But you're miserable. I've seen suicidal drug addicts more satisfied with their station."

"Well, you'd know. Anything else?"

"The forger isn't the only criminal I'm chasing, John."

"You mean, he's back?"

"I think so."

I looked around the house, looked at my tiny little life. The devil was at my door again, and he was telling me that there was room for one more.

Jen could handle the girls for a few days.

I had some vacation time due to me anyway.

"I'll get my shoes."


End file.
